


To The Rescue

by JohnAmendAll



Category: Adam Adamant Lives!, Knightmare - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 06:05:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5118080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnAmendAll/pseuds/JohnAmendAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A dashing hero wants to rescue Georgina. And this time, it isn't Adam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To The Rescue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Liadt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liadt/gifts).



Georgina Jones descended the broad oak staircase again, looking puzzled. 

"I don't get it," she said. "Whatever was making that noise, there's nothing up there." 

"Nothing?" Adam Adamant repeated. 

Georgie spread her hands. "You know what I mean. Nothing that would make a noise. Just stags' heads and side tables with glass jars on and suits of armour and junk like that." 

"Nothing out of the ordinary, then," Adam said, looking pained at the word 'junk'. As far as he was concerned, the taste of whoever had furnished this house indicated a pleasing respect for tradition. 

"Not for this house." Georgie paused in thought. "Hang on! I bet I know what it is. There's got to be a secret passage somewhere up there. Places like this always have secret passages. Probably comes out in the lounge." 

"In the _drawing room_ ," Adam said patiently. 

"Well, you check it out, and I'll go back up and look for the top end." 

Before Adam could reply, she dashed back up the stairs, eager to begin her search. Adam walked slowly in the direction of the drawing room, thinking over their conversation. Something about it was nagging at him. 

"Side tables," he repeated. "Suits of armour. Stags' heads." He shook his own head. There was definitely something awry, but he could not put his finger on it. 

⁂

On the upper landing, Georgie's attempts to discover the secret passage had begun as a systematic attempt to push, pull, or slide each panel in the wall. By the time she had tested half-a-dozen or so panels, she was contenting herself with giving them desultory shoves. The woodwork remained stubbornly resistant to all her attempts. 

Georgie paused before another panel, and looked up. The glass eyes of a stag's head peered down at her. 

_Maybe that's how it's worked,_ she thought. Standing on tiptoes, she reached up to the head and tugged at one antler, then the other. The head shifted on its mountings; Georgie, sent unexpectedly sideways, collapsed to the floor with a little shriek. 

⁂

Adam's search of the drawing room might have been conducted more thoroughly, but it was with a similar lack of attention. Georgie's description of the scene upstairs still nagged at him. 

" _Suits_ of armour," he repeated. " _Suits._ " He closed his eyes and pictured the corridor. When he had been in it, there had surely only been one suit of armour. If Miss Jones had seen two — why, this could only be a most fiendish trap! And he had allowed her, a fragile, defenceless girl, to enter it unaccompanied! 

He made for the staircase at a run. 

⁂

"I say!" a man's voice remarked. "Are you all right there, young lady?" 

With another cry of surprise, Georgie jumped up and looked around. One of the suits of armour had raised its visor, revealing a pink, moustached face with an expression of cheerful bafflement. 

"Who are you?" she asked, backing against the opposite wall. "What are you hiding like that for?" 

"Hiding? Not a bit of it." His voice was as aristocratic as Adam's, but lacking every quality of intelligence or incisiveness. "Must've dozed off for a bit, that's all. I'm Sir Hugh de Wittless. 'Spect you've heard of me. 'The dashing Sir Hugh,' y'know." 

Georgie shook her head. "Nope. Sorry." 

"Oh. Well, doesn't matter. Now, just give me a moment..." The armour clanked as Sir Hugh stretched his arms. "Feelin' dashed stiff. Don't want to walk around in armour when me legs are stiff. Might fall over, and how'd I rescue you then?" 

"Rescue me?" Georgie's concern at what this knight might do was rapidly being replaced by amusement. "What from?" 

Sir Hugh's expression of bafflement deepened. "There's got to be something, surely? Young lady all on her own, in a spooky old castle full of..." He looked around at the hall, and seemed lost for words. 

"I really don't need to be rescued." Georgie took a step forward, a smile on her face. "And if I did, I'm sure Mr Adamant wouldn't let anyone else get a look-in." 

The sound of the stairs being taken two at a time came to her ears, accompanied by an urgent "Miss Jones!" 

Georgie waved a hand. "See what I mean?" 

"Miss Jones," Adam repeated, as he hurried down the corridor. He took cognizance of the armoured knight, and drew his swordstick. "What is the meaning of this, sir?" 

"He wants to rescue me," Georgie said. "Don't know why." 

"Well, it's what you do with girls, isn't it?" Sir Hugh asked plaintively. 

"I assure you, sir, Miss Jones may be a damsel, but she is not currently in any form of distress. Except that caused by your unwanted attentions." 

"What?" Georgie interjected, in a tone between hilarity and incredulity. 

Sir Hugh paid her no attention. "Well, if you're going to rescue her that's that, I suppose." He made to scratch his head, but succeeded only in touching his helmet with a gauntletted hand. "Haven't introduced m'self properly, have I? Sir Hugh de Wittless, at your service." 

"Adam Adamant, at yours and your family's." Adam bowed. 

"Adamant, eh? Rings a bell. Y'know, you remind me a bit of a chap called... now, what was it? Richard du Mont. That was it. Yes, you've got a definite look of him." Sir Hugh looked back at Georgie. "Anyway, I'll leave you to your rescuin'." 

He made to turn away, but turned back at Georgie's call of "Wait!" 

"Sir Hugh," she said. "We think there may be a young woman held in the castle against her will. Do you have any idea where she might be?" 

"I'd say the dungeon. Yes, definitely. If I was goin' to lock someone up, give me a good dungeon any day." He paused in thought. "Did you say there was a young gel in the dungeons?" 

"We think there might be." 

"Then she'll need rescuin'! Tally-ho! You, sir, du Mont..." 

"Adamant." Adam had sheathed his swordstick and was giving the knight a thoughtful look. 

"Just so. Adamant. Will you stand with me in this noble cause?" 

"Gladly." 

"Then let's be going!" Sir Hugh clanked forward. Georgie recognised the sounds he was making; they were what had caused her to make her search of the corridor in the first place. Adam fell in behind him. Despite not being invited, Georgie tagged on as well. 

"Miss Jones," Adam said, in a low voice. "We have no reason to believe that Miss Green is being held in the castle." 

"We don't know she isn't," Georgie countered. "And it got him on our side." She looked sideways at Adam, who still had a pensive look. "You recognised that name, didn't you? Richard thingy." 

"du Mont." Adam lowered his voice further. "Miss Jones, I can trace my ancestry back to the Norman conquest. I did indeed have an ancestor by the name of Richard du Mont. He lived in the twelfth century." 

"But he talked as if he knew him." 

"Perhaps it's no more than a coincidence, Miss Jones. But I would advise a measure of caution dealing with Sir Hugh. He may be more than he appears." 

Ahead, there was a clatter of armour, a crash of broken glass, and a cheerful "Whoops! View halloo!" 

"Though I grant you, that does seem unlikely," Adam conceded.


End file.
